


From the Inside Out

by ladyofrosefire



Series: An Easy Way to Thaw, The Best Way to Fall [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Banter, Begging, Domme Natasha Romanov, F/M, Light Bondage, Nipple Play, Pegging, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This thing very nearly got named "James Barnes Really Likes Having Things in his Ass"</p><p>James, Natasha, and pegging. Healthy D/s relationship. Part three of this series, but since none of them have any plot, the order doesn't matter. There's also nothing for me to summarize. I'm just gonna say: actual lube was used.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Inside Out

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I realize I've been posting these and... well... chronologically? They are horribly out of order. Part 2 is first (so far), this one overlaps "Silk and Silver" with that scene falling somewhere between the first conversation James and Natasha have in this one and the scene in this part. 
> 
> Really, order doesn't matter all that much. 
> 
> There will be more parts as ideas come to me.

“So… before. Anyone ever fuck you?”

James chokes on his dinner. “What?”

Natasha smirks. “You heard me.”

He goes back to eating, the back of his neck a faint red. “What kind of a question _is_ that, anyway?”

“I’ve asked you far weirder. You remember the checklist, right?”

He does. It had been a long checklist with some very odd questions. It also had not been sprung on him during the middle of dinner.

“Fair… And yes, I have.”

“Would you like to do it again?”

This time, James manages not to choke. “Ah… Nat? I’ve gone down on you and you do not…”

“Have the equipment?” Natasha finishes. “Yasha, the future is amazing. Trust me.”

 

It goes much more slowly than James was expecting when Natasha broached the subject. But then, it’s been a while since he’s had anything in his ass at all and she’s always been careful when it comes to this and to him. Natasha has him start slowly.

The next time she takes him down-- and these times are becoming more frequent as he starts to believe, really believe, that they won’t lose their effectiveness- she has him finger himself. At first, he had questioned it. Her hands were significantly smaller.

Her reasons become clear almost as soon as they start. Natasha wants to see what he likes. So James shows her despite the flush staining his skin from hairline to mid-chest. He shows her how he wants his fingers slick enough that there is almost no friction and how he compensates by rushing himself, his hips jerking at the stretch, his eyes squeezing shut. He yelps, loudly, when he rediscovers his prostate and the way it sends pleasure like bolts of electricity up his spine. Natasha only chuckles and curls a slick hand around his cock. He comes squirming between his fingers and hers.

 

She encourages him to finger himself in the shower as well, just to get used to having something in him again. Eventually, he takes her advice. It turns out to be a _very good idea_. He tells her as much when they’re watching tv together, his head in her lap and her fingers carding through his hair and she laughs and kisses him soft and sweet on the corner of his mouth.

 

Later, when they move from cuddling to fucking, Natasha turns him on his stomach. Her fingers are smaller, but she also has a much better angle. She works him open quickly and efficiently, leaving him gasping against the pillow and trembling as he tries not to rut against the mattress. Eventually, she tells him to put a hand on his cock. Within a minute, he’s coming into his own hand, eyes squeezed shut against the pleasure of it.

 

James thinks that will be the end of it, that she is confident that he can comfortably have something inside of him again. But he’s wrong. The next time they take a day to themselves, just for this-- to break him down completely and build him up again, to shore up her supports-- she has him wear a plug. It turns out to be a good idea, too. It’s broader than her fingers and the pressure of it is deeper. By the end of the day, though, he has adjusted and he only aches a little after Natasha removes it.

 

She deems him ready after that.

 

Their ritual is the same. She orders him to clean himself up-- _thoroughly_ \-- and the tone she uses to make that qualification has him blushing and nodding, fighting the impulse to slink away on his hands and knees.

James returns with his skin scrubbed pink and his hair a tousled mess. He is already half hard just from the thought of what Natasha is going to do to him and when he sees her sitting on the edge of their bed the resulting rush of blood away from his head makes it spin. He goes to his knees with a dull thump.

 

That makes Natasha laugh softly, red lips curving, eyes crinkling at the corners and sparkling bright green. “Come here, James. Crawl.”

 

He nods, swallows hard, then goes forward onto his hands and knees. He crawls to her, unable to tear his eyes away from her. She has not dressed up. It’s rare that she does and for this, he doubted that she would. In a sense, he thinks, maybe she is dressed specially since he has forgone panties altogether and the only piece of fabric on her body is her bra.

 

He hopes to any and every deity that may be out there that she doesn’t expect him to pay a lot of attention to it because she’s already wearing the strap on. It is a perfectly normal size, but Natasha is only a few inches over five feet tall and she’s slim hipped, so it looks more that slightly disproportionate. It’s also a brilliant shade of purple.

And strangely, James can’t find it funny. He stares at her-- and _it_ \-- with his mouth gone dry and his eyes wide. His movements as he crawls toward her are unsteady and awkward and too fast and he can’t fucking _help_ it because he’s gone from dry-mouthed to swallowing hard, practically gagging for it already.

 

Natasha laughs and he gives a full-body shudder before coming to a stop before her and sitting back on his heels. She raises one eyebrow at him and smirks as she sees him lick his lips. Then she reaches down, hooks two fingers under his collar, and pulls James up onto the bed with her. He goes easily, shuddering as he opens his legs and settles with them bracketing her thighs. James tries to keep his hips up, but then Natasha is pulling gently on his hair, guiding his mouth to her neck before she reaches back to unhook her bra. James hears it land on the floor a moment later.

He kisses her breasts, flicks his tongue against her nipples and listens to her gasps of encouragement. Her hips rise as he touches her and then it’s him groaning, pressing his mouth against her shoulder at the too-dry rub of plastic against his cock that still has heat curling around the base of his spine. Natasha sinks back against the mattress and moves a hand to his face, tracing the curve of his mouth.

James kisses her fingertip, breath fluttering in his chest. “I… may I?” He looks down pointedly.

 

There’s a pause while Natasha pretends to deliberate-- and he _knows_ she’s only pretending-- then she nods, smirks, and pushes down on his shoulder. There’s another moment of reshuffling and the silicon cock rubs against his stomach for a moment. Then Natasha gets her legs spread and her feet planted on the mattress and James settles down between her thighs. It’s not a new position for them. He’s had his mouth on her many times and this is far from the first time he’s had a cock in his mouth. Still, it makes him shiver and close his eyes..

Natasha’s fingers scratch through his hair. “Are you just going to stare, or are you going to suck it?”

Those words, their crudeness, sounds wrong from her mouth. Not wrong in a way that makes him want to stop, but wrong in a way that feels illicit and he cannot help how that affects him.

James whines softly and clamps his jaw shut a moment later. “Sorry, ma’am…” He mumbles, back of his neck a brilliant red.

Her fingernails scrape lightly over the back of his neck. “Shh… it’s alright.”

 

He leans down and closes his mouth around the head of the strap-on. There’s very little taste to the silicon, at least relative to the real thing, but the weight of it on his tongue is both very present and very familiar. He stays there for a moment, cheeks hollowed out as he sucks, then sinks down. He’s out of practice, but Natasha doesn’t seem to mind. As he bobs on the strap-on, Natasha gasps, the muscles of her hips and thighs tensing. Then James sinks down, eyes watering as he fights his gag reflex, and Natasha’s hips jerk. He knows it’s from the harness or the base of the fake cock rubbing up against her clit but everything in his mind is a rush of white noise.

He groans, loudly, and tries to press down farther.

Natasha’s laugh is breathless as she winds her fingers into his hair. She presses down and he groans again even as a few, small tears spill out from under his closed eyelids. She holds him there for a few moments while he takes shallow breaths through his nose as tries to keep his throat relaxed. Then Natasha pulls him up by the hair, ignoring his whine of protest.

“I’ll fuck that pretty mouth of yours some other time.” She promises with a smile and a finger against his lips. “Now I want you on your back.”

James makes a sound that bares more than a passing resemblance to a whimper and goes easily, arranging himself on his back and, after a moment’s hesitation, opening his legs for her. Natasha settled between them and he whines softly as the strap-on rubs up against his cock. It’s slick from his saliva and that cuts the friction _just_ enough that he pushes up against it, at least he does until Natasha pins his hips and pinches him sharply on one nipple, making him whine.

“Hold still.”

He grabs the headboard with both hands, then obeys. Or, he tries to.

It’s almost impossible for him to keep from squirming as Natasha starts rubbing quick, tight circles around his nipples. He takes a few sharp breaths, closing his eyes tightly. An embarrassed flush steals up the back of his neck and over his cheeks and he hides his face against his right arm.

“M’not a girl…” James mutters, grip tightening as she drags a thumb directly over one hardened bud.

Natasha pinches him again and this time does not let go. “I know you aren’t. But this feels nice, doesn’t it.”

James whimpers, shifting under her hands, and she pinches harder until he gasps. “Yes, ma’am.”

He whines again, softly, when she lifts her hands away from his chest. A moment later, her mouth is on his sore nipples, tongue licking against them to soothe the sting on first one side, then the other. A moment later, she bites him and shakes her head, just slightly. He jerks under her, mouth falling open, breath falling from his lips in sharp pants. Natasha tugs once, then sits up, smiling. Then she laughs softly and James realizes he’s arched up, pushing his chest toward her.

“Yeah, it’s good…” She murmurs, leaning down. Her teeth close on his other nipple a moment later. When she pulls away again, they are sore and reddened, throbbing almost worse than his cock.

Natasha rubs a thumb over each, watches him bite his lip, then leans down.

“Please-- ma’am, please. It’s--”

Her mouth brushes against his side and he makes a soft sound that’s half relief and half embarrassment. She knows him, his limits, his needs. If something is the wrong kind of too much or the wrong time, she stops. She always stops. She can push him without breaking him.

Her mouth is soft on his skin and he relaxes under it, doesn’t even notice his thighs falling properly open until her hips are pressed and rolling against his and he’s crying out, legs tensing around her slim, strong hips. It doesn’t stop her from moving against him again. His hands come off of the headboard, the right tangling in her hair, the other pressing against the small of her back. Natasha pushes both off of her and pulls away, shaking her head. She’s smiling, though.

“Turn over.” She instructs and, once he does, manhandles him until he’s resting on his forearms and shins, his ass up in the air.

Natasha cuffs his hands to the headboard, rubbing the strap-on against his ass in the process. It draws another moan from James, the sound rolling up from his chest and falling from his lips without his conscious permission.

“Beautiful…” Natasha murmurs as she pulls back, and James flushes half way down his chest.

That flush darkens as he hears the snap of a bottle cap, then feels-- “Oh fuck, _cold_ , cold…”-- Slick fingers circling his hole. He waits, breathing a little too hard, for her to do more, but her fingers never so much as dip inside. Finally, James arches his back, pushes his ass back against her hand and whines out a single, soft “ _please_ ”.

“You only had to ask.”

She slips a finger into him and he sobs softly in relief, then has to force himself to stay still and relaxed as Natasha thrusts his finger lazily in and out of him.

At this point, it never feels more than vaguely nice, and that’s more the idea of it than the feeling itself. Natasha’s finger is slim and callused and he breathes almost easily as she moves it. She gives him a second soon enough that he does not have time to become impatient, turning the sensation from quietly pleasant to decidedly difficult to ignore. It pushes another soft noise from James’s lips and rocks back against her fingers, tugging on the cuffs. It’s not enough, not yet, and he wants--

Natasha’s other hand comes down on his ass and he cries out in surprise, turning a brilliant red.

“Sorry, ma’am.” He mumbles, turning his face to hide it against his forearm.

Behind him, Natasha _hmm_ phs and twists her fingers in him until he stiffens and his mouth falls open. It’s a game, her pretending she doesn’t know where to press, and James can’t bring himself to care because now her fingers are making little circles and he’s only staying quiet because drawing breath has become decidedly difficult and his thighs are shaking with the pleasure of it. He bites down on his lower lip and grabs a handful of the fitted sheet. Luckily, it does not rip. And it really is just dumb luck.

James whines and squirms all the way through her pressing a third finger into him. He would tell her he doesn’t need it, would beg her to please, please hurry up and fuck him, except he’s still speechless, his mind fogged over, his thoughts slow and honeyed.

But Natasha isn’t stopping. She’s adding more lube and thrusting her fingers in him lazily, dragging them over his prostate at a pace that makes him want to buck and squirm. And, eventually, that cracks him.

“Natalia, ma’am, please?” He shifts on his knees, turning to look back at her with wide eyes. “Please, I need--”

And she nods, leans down and kisses him, then withdraws her fingers.

The loss makes him whine and flush. He feels-- hot, open, vulnerable. And it’s good, but God, he needs something. Needs Natasha. She’s murmuring to him, kissing the backs of his shoulders as she slicks the strap-on.

Then she pushes into him and everything goes a little fuzzy.

His word shrinks to Natasha’s fingers in his hair, the silicon cock moving in him, occasionally catching him just the way he needs, and the sounds Natasha is making. They are breathless, almost stunned, and each one sends a surge of pride through him even as he answers them with cries of his own.

James pushes back and receives another sharp slap on the ass for his trouble. He flushes and drops his head onto his arms, gasping through the sudden, bright spark of pleasure.

“S-s _orry_.”

One of Natasha’s thrusts breaks the word and his voice in two. He gives up on talking after that. Coherency is far out of his reach

Then Natasha does this thing with her hips-- a pressing and circling motion that makes the head of the strap-on grind up against his prostate-- and it’s just about everything that James can do to keep from screaming because _oh God thats just not fair_. He bites the inside of his right arm instead and shakes with it, hips jerking, eyes tearing up.

 

James realizes, dimly, that he’s babbling, the words slurred and half bitten-off, a mess of _please_ and _Natalia_ and _oh God, oh God_. Then Natasha’s hand, still slightly slick, and now more than a little bit sticky, with lube curls around his cock. She strokes once, then twice, and he hears her breathe permission against the side of her neck.

He comes with Natasha’s breasts pressed against his back and her hair tickling his shoulder. He comes, and she keeps moving, pushing him through it and then past, until he’s whimpering against his forearm as the strap-on drags over hypersensitive nerves. But it’s only for a few more moments. Natasha cries out sharply and comes, folding forward to press against his back.

 

For a few long moments, she stays there, breathing heavily, her hair tickling the backs of his shoulders, her breasts and stomach sweat-damp against his back. Then she shifts backward and the movement draws a long ‘ _a-ah_ ’ from James’s throat that makes him blush and duck his head. He aches pleasantly. It’s not pain, just the normal after effects, and James stretches out slowly on the mattress, moving away from the wet spot. Natasha cuddles up against his side, despite how warm they both are and smooths a hand up and down for a few moments. Then he nudges at her shoulder and she nods, understanding. He walks to the bathroom and by the time he comes back, no longer sticky, Natasha has changed the sheets and pulled on a nightgown.

 

“I love you, you know.” He tells her, settling into bed beside her.

Natasha guides his head down on her shoulder and kisses his forehead. He can smell the cool mint of her toothpaste and it’s lovely and familiar. He’s still down, too, and so even this simple reminder of home and stability has him sighing and wrapping his arms around her.

“And I love you.” She is silent for just a moment, then, “how are you feeling?”

James nuzzles into her neck and closes his eyes. “Good. I mean… a little sore? Good sore, though. And my head’s in a good place.”

“It didn’t seem like you went as deep as usual.”

“I didn’t…” James sighed and reached out to pull the blankets over them. “I didn’t want any deeper, though.”

Natasha smiles-- he can feel her mouth curving, her cheek lifting, where its tucked against his hair-- and runs a hand down his back.

They lay there in silence for a while, holding each other, breathing. James twirls one of Natasha’s curls between his fingers, conscious of its bright color even after Natasha reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp.

“Would you believe it? We haven’t broken one of these in… a month?” She teases, and James snorts.

“Can’t have that.”

Natasha draws him in for a kiss.  “Mmm… we’ll break one next time.”

James smiles against her mouth, sleepy and sated, warmed from the inside out. “Promise?”

“I promise, милая моя.”

James falls asleep with Natasha warm in his arms and her hair tickling his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know what you think. Ideas for the two of them to try, that kind of thing. No promises that I'll write it, but it will at least be considered. 
> 
> I have an idea for another part that would probably work out to have a few chapters, but still no plot. Also, it's entirely possible that only the last chapter would even come close to resembling smut. Because I want to show the softer side of this type of relationship. Would anyone be interested in reading that?


End file.
